


Predictable and Unpredictable

by iridescentglow



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentglow/pseuds/iridescentglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only time Hannibal feels is when Will's fucking him senseless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Predictable and Unpredictable

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hannibalkink](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org) meme. Shameless smut.

In truth, Hannibal began his seduction of Will merely as an academic exercise. It was clear from their first session together that the other man desired him; Hannibal was simply curious about the route his desire would take and how best it could be exploited. The sex was altogether secondary.

Hannibal knew he was a skilled lover. He had approached that particular learning curve methodically, with the same dedication he’d used when learning to draw. He was exceptionally good at intuiting his partner’s needs and delivering precisely what they wanted.

There were undoubtedly a number of men and women across the world that had shared Hannibal’s bed and who felt convinced that he was in love with them, when in fact, he gave them scant thought – unless they happened to be served up as tonight’s dinner.

When Will finally made his move – so to speak – Hannibal made an effort to act surprised. In fact, the torturous shifting of emotions across of Will’s face had been clearly evident to Hannibal over the course of the evening. Will was still visibly tied up in emotional knots when Hannibal escorted him into the hallway and offered mild platitudes about what an enjoyable dinner guest he’d been.

It was no surprise at all when, instead of reaching for his coat, Will instead reached for Hannibal. Will probably thought he was being bold when he darted forward to kiss Hannibal; in fact, he was being entirely predictable.

The stirrings of interest that Hannibal felt in the pit of his stomach as he returned Will’s kiss were entirely anthropological in origin. Ahh, to observe Will Graham in a new habitat! To discover his quirks of intimacy! A new folder for Hannibal’s mental file; a tantalizing blank page to be filled with notes.

As the two of them made their way haphazardly through the house to the bedroom (kiss and stumble, kiss and stumble), Hannibal contentedly hoarded new information about Will. New scents and sights and sounds.

_—The way that Will curled his toes against the back of his heel in order to peel off his socks—_

_—The hitching sound at the back of Will’s throat when Hannibal buried his fingers in Will’s curls and tugged lightly—_

_—The musky, warm scent of Will’s cock as Hannibal’s lips closed around its head—_

None of it incited passion in Hannibal – only a laser-focused interest.

Will came easily as a result of Hannibal’s carefully controlled blowjob technique. And his orgasm was accompanied by a wonderfully specific series of moans that Hannibal instantly memorized for later dissection. Hannibal swallowed his come gladly and wondered how its taste would compare to the rest of Will Graham, prepared and cooked to perfection.

Afterward, as the two of them lay in bed, Will panting lightly as he recovered his faculties, Hannibal waited patiently for Will’s invitation. Hannibal closed his eyes and smiled, already anticipating hearing the new and thrilling string of words come out of Will’s mouth: _“Please, would you fuck me?”_

Will would undoubtedly say please. He would probably stutter a little. His voice would crack with desperation. It was all so terribly easy to predict.

Hannibal was so convinced of this version of events that when Will posed an entirely different question, he was left momentarily mute.

“Hey,” Will said, nipping at Hannibal’s jaw as he nuzzled into the curve of Hannibal’s shoulder. “Did you hear me? I asked where you keep your lube. It’s kind of important—” (Will’s hands had begun to roam low on Hannibal’s body now) “—so that I can, ah, fuck you.”

“Top drawer, left hand side.” Hannibal heard the slightly mechanical tone as he spoke and forced himself to recover his smile in order to relax his voice.

As Will leaned across him, ferreting out lube and a condom, Hannibal flipped to a new page in his mental notebook and reassessed. Yes, if he was honest, he’d imagined a writhing, emotionally-flayed Will Graham spread out beneath him while Hannibal drove himself into the other man’s darkest reaches.

But Hannibal certainly wasn’t opposed to being the bottom. It just wasn’t, as a simple matter of circumstance, anything he had yet experienced.

Hannibal kept his body relaxed as Will’s slick fingers pushed into his asshole. With effort, he steadied his breathing and concentrated on watching the slight crease appear between Will’s eyebrows.

Will, as it turned out, was not the most commanding of tops. “Is this okay?” he murmured. “Is it okay?”

“Will,” Hannibal said, a hint of disapproval in his tone, “do be quiet and just fuck me.”

“Yes… Dr Lecter,” said Will, visibly emboldened.

A wolfish smile appeared on Will’s face and Hannibal felt a sudden desire to kiss it away. He reared up off the bed, capturing Will’s lips in his. He tilted his pelvis upward, forcing Will’s fingers deeper into his ass.

Without meaning to, Hannibal found that he was panting. Will’s lubed fingers slid an inch further inside him. In response, Hannibal’s cock hardened. He pawed at Will’s face, kissing him sloppily, all teeth and tongue, his synapses craving more sensation.

Hannibal didn’t think it polite to speculate aloud on Will’s sexual potency, but it had begun to occur to him that Will might be unable to perform again so quickly after his last release. It was an idea that, just a few minutes earlier, might have caused him a moment’s cool amusement: a flaccid, embarrassed Will was an easily-manipulated Will, after all. Now, however, he felt a hot pulse of agitation at the idea of being denied. 

“Will…” he breathed.

Hannibal reached for Will’s cock and felt it harden at his touch. His stroked it and, as he did so, realized that his movements had become strangely fraught. He found it suddenly difficult to find the dignified detachment with which he’d handled Will’s cock earlier. Hannibal’s gaze strayed to Will’s face, straining above him, the pools of pleasure in Will’s eyes expanding with each stroke.

Feeling sure he could wait no longer, Hannibal located the condom and tore the wrapper open in one fluid motion. He saw that his fingers were trembling ever so slightly as he rolled the condom down over Will’s cock. He let Will handle the lube and made a concerted effort to steady his suddenly unsteady body. 

“Will…”

Will replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock and Hannibal braced himself. Will took it slowly, easing himself into Hannibal one inch at a time. Each slow inch was tinged with pain for Hannibal, but that wasn’t the overriding sense. Instead, he was caught up in the building sense of being filled, of being sated, of being _connected_. 

Hannibal’s mind reached for a comparison and he found there wasn’t one.

In fact, his mind seemed all of a sudden altogether ineffectual. Reasonable thought was overridden by gibberish. His carefully-submerged emotions rose to the surface. In place of thought, feeling. In place of control, abandon.

“Will…”

He felt that Will’s name was the only one left on his tongue, chased at the back of his throat by a mish-mash of words of non-English. _Baiser, fottere, trakhat'sya_. The edges of these words were sharp and vulgar against his disconnected vocal cords. 

And, when he thought the sensation had built to the point where there was no more left to feel, Will began to _thrust_. His fingers and thumb formed a circle at the base of Hannibal’s cock and, matching each stroke with a thrust, he began to fuck Hannibal in earnest.

Hannibal writhed on the bed beneath Will, savoring the white heat of every movement.

“Will… Will… _Will…_ ”

In the single syllable, repeated like a chant, Hannibal heard the way his own voice cracked with emotion. He heard every feeling. He heard his own desperation. His loneliness. His fear. His awful, undeniable humanity.

When Hannibal came, it was with a sensation like surfacing. Half-crazed, half-dreaming, he felt sure he saw sunshine glinting off an expanse of dark water. Will’s hand, sticky with come, groped at Hannibal’s chest for leverage, his own orgasm close. Will’s splayed fingers found Hannibal’s heartbeat, which raced at a speed he’d thought unimaginable.

And Hannibal felt.

Everything.


End file.
